I am reminded, suddenly, as my brain decides to come awake to the world in general, that I get to join some of my lovely fellow NaNoBoston warriors tonight for a bit of writing. The Novel, you see, has been calling to me again as of late. It wants to feel me lovingly caress it with my brain, building it towards having an actual ending. That, if I should achieve it, will be a first for me. You see, last year I did indeed write a novel’s length of first draft, but I never actually finished the story. It sat for a year, gathering dust and being slowly erased from my brain by the ravages of time and alcohol. Looking back at it, that was probably for the best. RIP Glitch. I’m sorry you never got to ravage the minds of man (but no one else is).
This year, though, my ability to write a first draft has progressed from “drooling on the keyboard” to “shoveling out a load of drivel”, and so I feel compelled to actually finish this one and see what happens from there. I’m quite looking forward to it.
In keeping with my ramblings about starting down the rabbit hole of writerly endeavor, I’d like to point you to the following perspective on, what Jay Lake calls “The larval stages of the common American speculative fiction writer”
I could do better than this. A monkey could do better than this.
After re-reading volumes I through XVII of A Game of Throne-Captains of the Mystical Vagina of Time, the writer will exclaim, “I could do better than this! A monkey could do better than this!” Many amazing careers have been launched from this moment. It should be honored, much like any moment of conception, possibly by bunking out for a wet wipe and a smoke afterward.
Yours in larval rapture,